This blog is written by a journalist based in Mumbai who writes about cities, the environment, developmental issues, the media, women and many other subjects.The title 'ulti khopdi' is a Hindi phrase referring to someone who likes to look at things from the other side.

Saturday, November 08, 2014

Crossing over

Sometimes a documentary film speaks louder than a thousand words. And so
it was last week when I chanced upon a powerful documentary film, Maria in Nobody’s Land.
Made in 2010 by a first-time filmmaker, Marcela Zamora Chamorro, and
winner of several awards, the film portrays a picture of illegal
immigration into the United States about which I had little knowledge.

If you have lived in the U.S., you would know about the push from people
living in the countries south of the border to enter the U.S. in any
way they can. This has been happening for decades and continues even
today. A stark reminder of that is the U.S.-Mexico border, south of the
city of San Diego in California. On the U.S. side of the border is vast
open land; some of it declared a protected area to conserve a particular
bird species. On the other is the town of Tijuana, visible from the
U.S. side, a dense urban settlement with houses almost touching the
border. Separating the two countries is a steel fence that extends into
the sea, slicing the shared beach into two. The entire area is a
militarised zone with helicopters constantly buzzing overhead keeping an
eye out for desperate immigrants trying to make their way across.
Mexico and the U.S. are not at war. Yet, looking at that border, you
would think they are.

But the story of the desperate immigrant begins thousands of miles away
from this and other similar border posts all along the south of the U.S.
And not just in Mexico but even further south. It is also a gendered
story, with many of those taking enormous risks to cross what appears an
impenetrable border being women. These are single mothers, sisters,
aunts — women who are convinced that by crossing over they will
guarantee their families a better life. And, as legal immigration
appears impossible, they risk taking the illegal route.

The film follows some of these women from the impoverished country of El
Salvador, south of Mexico, to the U.S. border. What they encounter en
route is a grim and frightening story. That they survive is a miracle;
others like them are raped, robbed, kidnapped and killed by criminal
gangs along the way. Their own government couldn’t care less. And
neither does Mexico. If there is any solace, it comes from voluntary
immigrant support groups who provide shelter and food.

One remarkable episode in the film shows a group of women who prepare
packets of water and food every day. As a freight train carrying scores
of these migrants passes their village, they stand near the tracks and
pass out the packets. The train does not stop. It doesn’t even slow
down. And yet, these women have figured out a way of getting all their
packets to the people hanging on for dear life on the roofs of these
trains.

Apart from bringing out the dangers that these women and men face even
as they make their way to the American border, the film also reminds us
of the gender dimension of immigration. The immigrant — legal or illegal
— is not just a man. Increasingly, she is a woman.

In Asia too, women are migrating to other countries to find work and
money to support their families. Over the years, women from Southeast
Asia (the Philippines, Thailand, Indonesia) and South Asia (Sri Lanka,
Bangladesh, India, Nepal and Pakistan) have been migrating not just to
West Asia but further afield to Europe and the U.S. Unlike the women
depicted in the documentary, many of these women are legal migrants.
Yet, quite often, the job they think they will do turns out to be
something else. Promised jobs as domestic help, for instance, they find
themselves in the so-called ‘entertainment’ industry, another name for
commercial sex work.

Many of these stories are never recorded. The illegal immigrants
constantly fear being found out and deported. And those who have papers
fear that if they report ill treatment, they will lose their jobs.
Either way, silence is their only option as even the hardships they
confront in the countries in which they work are bearable compared to
the poverty — and in the case of women, domestic violence — that is the
daily burden of their lives at home.

There are many more films waiting to be made, many more books waiting to
be written, that will tell these stories. For only then is their hope
that countries and their citizens will view the migrant sympathetically
and as a person whose only ‘crime’ is to seek a better life.

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My profile

Journalist, columnist, writer based in Mumbai. Author of "Rediscovering Dharavi: Stories from Asia's largest slum" (Penguin, 2000). Worked with The Hindu, Times of India, Indian Express and Himmat Weekly.
Other books include "Whose News? The Media and Women's Issues" edited with Ammu Joseph (published by Sage 1994/2006), "Terror Counter-Terror: Women Speak Out" edited with Ammu Joesph (published by Kali for Women, 2003) and "Missing: Half the Story, Journalism as if Gender Matters" (published by Zubaan, 2010).
Regular columns in The Hindu, Sunday Magazine and on The Hoot (www.thehoot.org).